


still believe I'll bring you back

by theshipstorulethemallwrites



Series: call you half mine [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, First Kiss, Hopeful Ending, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Rule 63, Switzerland, again this man flew to Switzerland purely to convince Willy Nylander that they matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipstorulethemallwrites/pseuds/theshipstorulethemallwrites
Summary: Neutrality doesn't equal peaceor Willy, Kyle and Switzerland





	still believe I'll bring you back

**Author's Note:**

> 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY I ABSOLUTELY FELL IN LOVE WITH THESE TWO 
> 
> hi here have girl Willy dealing with Switzerland 
> 
> I apologize in advance 
> 
> this is a series 
> 
> thanks to J, C, C, H for their encouragement

Sometimes neutrality is another way to say mutually assured destruction. Just, in the future.

At least that’s how Willy feels, when she sees Kyle Dubas for the first time in months. And they haven’t been alone since even longer than that. 

He looks good, despite the near eight hour plane ride, despite the season starting. Confidence looks damn good on him. She knew that it would be noticeable when she’d seen the announcement, but just how much, well, she was unprepared for that.

“Hey,” he says, smile soft as he rocks back on his heels, gaze trained on her. 

“Good to see you,” Willy grins, running her hands through her blow dryed blonde hair. 

“That a new suit?” she asks, her smile going tight as she notices the tiny leafs on his tie. It’s a reminder of why he’s here, to negotiate a contract. Not to wine and dine her and then take her to bed, as much as she wants that.

Kyle shakes his head before seeming to remember that she hasn’t seen him months, hasn’t seen him since playoffs. Since the loss to Boston that weighed heavy on all of them. Since the time he’d tugged her into a hug after she’d walked off the ice one last time and murmured something in her hair that she’s somehow forgotten. It feels important. But she doesn’t know what it was, couldn’t make out the words because of the noise of the crowd, the disappointment in her heart. 

“I know I saw you at Zach’s event briefly but seriously, congrats on landing Tavares,” she says, as Kyle starts leading them to a picturesque coffee shop overlooking one of the city’s famed bridges.

“Thanks. Now we just need you back and we’ll have the whole team,” Kyle grins, nodding to the hostess and flashing a two with his fingers. The woman leads them outside, to a secluded table with a view of the water and the archways. 

Willy frowns, “so we’re doing this right away. No, “hey Will, how are you? How’s the family?” Just, the team needs you, quit being a greedy bitch and come back to Toronto.” 

Kyle looks like she slapped him, or maybe like she just kicked him in the balls, the look of pain and horror that crosses his face for a moment. He bites his lip, frowning, the mask of a GM gone as he says, “Willy, no. Don’t ever say that. I’m sorry about the fucking media.” 

“You can’t control everything,” Willy aquiceses, the look of something flashing across his face, his eyes drawn in behind his glasses. If he were anyone else, she’d call that look want, she’d even go so far as to call that look desperation. But why would Kyle look at her like that?

“I’m sorry I started this off wrongly. I’m not used to - “ he stops, fingers curling into a fist. 

Willy doesn’t know what he’s trying to say but he’s clearly not in a mood to finish the thought because he just sighs and takes a sip of water. 

“It’s beautiful here,” Willy murmurs, trying to get them back to a better place. Or at least one where the tension between them isn’t about to turn into an inferno. That wouldn’t be good.

Kyle nods, eyes focused on her as he agrees, “yeah, it really is.” 

“I know the media is saying things about my father’s involvement, about my agent,” she sighs, aggravated, trying to think of the right phrasing in English. She’s spoken it for years but this is delicate, this is fragile. Nearly as breakable as her heart. She can’t lose Toronto, can’t lose the place where every time she steps on the ice she feels limitless. 

“I deserve more than what you’re offering. And I’m the one pushing for it.” 

It’s almost a relief to say out loud. To declare, even if it’s only to Kyle, that she knows her worth, that she won’t settle. 

Kyle nods, as though he’s expecting this, “as much as I want to, I don’t have permission to talk numbers with you without your agent.” 

Willy raises an eyebrow, settling in her chair as two cups of coffee are placed on the table. 

“So, why fly out here then? If it’s not to have me sign a contract and fly back with you?” 

She’s confused, why Kyle would put in this much effort. After all, she’s not Auston, the first overall, the American-born goal scorer extraordinaire. She’s not Mitch, Toronto’s favorite playmaking son. She’s not even Tavares, the Canadian gold medal winner big fish UFA. She’s just Willy. The Swedish-raised, Canadian born, winger. 

Kyle frowns at her, “you really have no idea how much you matter do you?” 

Willy raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of her coffee and shaking her head, because no, she doesn’t.

“Willy,” Kyle sighs, looking like he’s at war with himself over just how honest he wants to be. 

“You started everything, you getting drafted, you getting called up, you’re the start of it and I refuse to not let you see the end of it,” he says, confident and sure. He’s being honest, the emotion in his eyes isn’t something even he can fake and she stares at him. 

“You’re being serious,” she says, awe in her tone, heart hammering in her chest, words swallowed down her throat, sinking heavy like a boulder in a lake. 

Kyle nods, “Yeah, I am.” 

He inhales sharply, dropping a few Swiss bills on the table, probably too much for their two coffees but he stands. 

“What?” she asks, brushing her hair out of her eyes as he extends a hand to her. 

“Come on, I don’t want to have this conversation here,” Kyle murmurs quietly, as their hands touch and the jolt from the skin to skin contact wakes Willy up more than coffee ever could.

Are they finally having this conversation? The one about the sparks between them, about the way he says her name different than everyone else’s, about the way she can’t stop flirting but it feels like more with him. Here. Now.

While she’s oceans away, while he’s negotiating her contract. 

There’s no good time to have this conversation but this might be the best time. They’re in Switzerland and Willy’s never been good at anything except hockey but even she knows this country is known for it’s neutrality. Her contract is at a stalemate and just being here with Kyle is pushing them closer to the edge they’ve spent years looking over and then looking away.

Willy nods, following him onto the bridge and wrapping her coat around herself, the wind swirling her hair around her face. 

“Willy,” Kyle sighs, turning to face her, one hand on the bridge, fingers pointing to her. 

“Yeah,” Willy murmurs, hand shoved in her pocket curling in on itself, arching an eyebrow, “you know it was warm in the coffee shop.” 

Kyle chuckles quietly, “I didn’t want to be overheard,” 

The words are out of Willy’s mouth before she can stop them, “why cause you’re confessing you have feelings and you’re not just a stats robot GM?” 

Nice save. She made her comment about his perception instead of about her. He stutters though, which means he knows what she was really implying. 

He straightens, looking serious, “I’m not trading you. You won’t ever wear anything but the leaf on your chest as long as I’m GM.” 

And he’s told her this before, told her this when she’d congratulated him on the promotion, told her this in an email when the media had started saying they didn’t need her. But it hits different when he’s standing in front of her. 

It’s a declaration. It’s a vow. There’s something he’s not saying but she doesn’t want to think about what it is. If it’s that he wants her, that he’s falling for her. She can’t go there. Not now, not when he leaves to go back home tomorrow. 

He steps closer to her, grasping her hand in his and she swears in Swedish in her head. If he says anything else that seems remotely romantic she’s going to kiss him. Hopefully he kisses back. Because he looks serious and resolute and she just knows he’s going to say something.

“Thank you,” she murmurs quietly. Even though she doesn’t believe him. Eventually he’ll have to trade her, it might not be now, it might not be next week but he will. The Toronto media tends to make people break promises and this is a big one.

Kyle makes a pained sound, “you don’t believe me,” he says, sounding hurt. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you mean it, I just don’t think you’ll keep it,” she admits, surprised at how well he can read her. But he’s always known her better than nearly anyone, that started on the Marlies, when he’d noticed her staying on the ice and gone to talk to her and somehow known that she was feeling burdened by expectations rather than nerves about playing pro. 

Kyle steps even closer to her, their faces inches apart and his hand comes to cup her face. 

“Willy,” he breathes, “I couldn’t trade you because doing so would rip out my own heart.” 

And that’s. 

It’s out there now. On a bridge in Zurich. 

Kyle Dubas just told her that she’s his heart. 

She can’t not react, her mouth falling open and her feet shuffling closer, her hand coming around to clutch the back of his jacket. 

She leans in to kiss him and he closes the gap, mouth pressing on hers. His hand moves to her hair, tangling his fingers in her waves and tugging her even closer. She bites down on his lower lip, body going hot as he opens his mouth, tongues intertwining and bodies pressed together. 

It’s somehow better than she dreamed, the water lapping below them and the anonymity of them in a foreign country. He groans into her mouth, sounding as desperate for her as she feels. Kyle smirks as she pulls away to breathe but there’s only a second before Kyle is pulling her back in, nearly lifting her up in his desire to keep her close. 

It feels like something out of a romantic movie. The wind rushing past them as he sets her down, hands around her waist as he kisses her. 

She feels like she’s starving for him, mouth open and their tongues try to claim each other. Kyle moans, his cock hard against her thigh. It clearly reminds her that this isn’t a one time thing, their hearts are involved.

She doesn’t want to do anything more, not here, not now. They’ll have time when she gets back. She’ll make sure of it. She’s been determined for her entire life at getting what she wants and her heart is no exception. They know they both want this, and there’s no hiding, not from each other. 

There’s no way this will be easily forgotten, his lips on hers are more of a vow than his words were.

Kyle’s fingers are pressing in her waist, leaving bruises that won’t last, the scent of him will fade, by the time she gets home, she’ll only have her memories. 

Willy wants to hold on but Kyle’s phone rings, a vicious reminder that this is temporary. They aren’t just a boy and a girl on vacation, the tension finally exploding and their hearts finally making their feelings into words and actions. He’s the GM of her fucking hockey team, this is way more complicated than just their hearts. It should be simple but Willy wants her name on a cup, while wearing the leaf on her sweater and being in love with Kyle Dubas makes that dream a million times harder. 

Sighing, she pulls away, hands wrapped around Kyle’s hips, “we can do more of that, once you bring me home.

**Author's Note:**

> title from London by Mokita 
> 
> please tell me what you think 
> 
> find me on Twitter @hockeytorulethemall
> 
> also there is a Pinterest board but it is spoiler-y so ask if you want to be spoiled


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